WannabeMaybe
by someone5
Summary: She could feel herself floating away into nothingness, and she knew she was dying. What else could death be besides an abyss without him? Lit, post6x08.


**_Title:_** WannabeMaybe

**_Summary:_** She could feel herself floating away into nothingness, and she knew she was dying. What else could death be besides an abyss without him? Lit, post-6x08.

**_Notes:_** Angsty Lit. Please, don't ask me where _Watercolors_ is, or where this little doozy came from. Me no know. shrugs helplessly

- - - - -

She ran to him on impulse. Well, not _to_ him but away from everything else, which left him as her only outlet. He'd been surprised to see her walk into Truncheon, just as she'd been surprised that she'd sucked it up, that she hadn't run or second-guessed herself. But that wasn't completely true, either, because she had second-guessed herself, but she was past the point of caring. Numb until…

"What are you doing here?"

His tone was light, happy, maybe even excited although he did his best to stifle it. She could tell, though. She could always tell.

The address was on the inside of his book, the publishing company, the city, the name, the address, his name, Jess Mariano, look what I did, no longer a failure, although she _never, ever_ thought of him as one. Still, it was there, printed on paper, timeless and for all the world to see.

He knew there was something off about her almost immediately, that welcoming smile fading into a frown of concern. He was right, of course, he always was. She led him outside into the bitter cold, but he didn't complain or inquire as to why. She was suffocating, and a part of him knew that.

There was a question on her mind, a question for him, a question that had been plaguing her for over two years. A question that she had to ask him on _this_ Saturday, in person, why she didn't know.

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like?"

"Ror–" he began tentatively only to be cut off by a resolute glance and an insistent repetition.

"Do you?"

Curious and confused, he relented, wracking his brain for an answer, which she so desperately needed. "Wonder what – _what_?"

"If I had gone with you that night, when you came to my dorm. Do you ever wonder?"

Eyes that been so intently focused on hers in uncertainty suddenly pulled themselves away. He pulled himself away, retreating into that 18 year-old boy of secrets and untruths. And silence. Silence that had always made her heart wrench and ask _what did I do?_. Silence that he had worked so hard to overcome. They both fell back into the shameful side of their youth; him distant, her devastated, both desperate to connect.

"Well, I do. I think about it all the time," she confessed in a detached whisper.

"Look, I don't think we should do this."

"I would have transferred to Columbia, or NYU," she continued, vocalizing her carefully idealized fantastical plan for the very first time. The fantasy that she lie awake nights perfecting. "I wouldn't have dropped out of school," she added as a bitter afterthought. "I wouldn't have slept with Dean or dated Logan or stole a boat or dropped out or fought with my mom or lived with my grandparents." The list was rather pitiful once recounted sequentially. She almost laughed.

"We would have killed each other." A slight smile escaped him, but the stoic seriousness of his voice betrayed the light overtone.

"I think we already have," she commented vacantly. Can't think about it too hard or you'll never be able to think of anything else.

There wasn't much for him to say after that, not that he had a chance to. The wave in her crested and overflowed, words spilling from her a mile a minute. Confessions, speculations. What would you say after listening to your _wannabemaybe_ soul mate relive her death? Emotional, spiritual, mental, sexual. Not physical, because that would be fair and just and life is neither of those things. That would have been what she _wanted_, and she'd learned by now that wants and needs are always unattainable. So, slowly, her insides had dissolved, so slowly that she didn't even notice until he wished her a happy birthday and walked away, leaving her feeling so empty, so weightless. It only took her mere minutes to realize that this feeling was nothing new, that this was now expected and that _he_ had been the difference. He had grounded her. Just for a moment, but it was the moment that would break her.

As he left that night (so long ago, not really), that sense of balance left with him and it wasn't until then that she began to comprehend how much she'd missed it. (How much she needed it.)

She could feel herself floating away into nothingness, and she knew she was dying. What else could death be besides an abyss without him?

Harsh yellow light tinted her face as she told him all of these things, bringing out the dark circles under her eyes, the thinness of her lips, lips so stark against her pale skin (so pale). Winter was coming early this year, a ruthless gust of wind chapping her already red nose. The world and all its elements conspired against the affinity of her, yet through it all he couldn't help but to see her a beautiful. It broke him that night when he was 17 and brooding and she was awkward and offered a complete stranger her copy of _Howl_. It broke him again tonight as she confessed truths she had yet to confess to herself, looking so panicked and melancholy under the streetlight.

"I'm afraid I'll feel like this forever, Jess," she confided, to him and to herself. "I was fine until I met you. Ever since then, I've needed more, and I can't seem to find it, probably because I don't know what exactly it is that I'm looking for. Maybe it's just you." She looked away from him then, across the street to the empty vastness of a pitch-black night.

"I didn't mean to," he told her sincerely, referring to so many things. Not apologetic, just honest. She didn't want an apology and he knew that. Contrary to opposing viewpoints, Rory regretted _nothing_ about their relationship. (Except for the fact that it wasn't _him _she was writhing underneath that night, her first, the only…) So many mistakes. So much time lost.

She offered him a small smile, which he returned immediately. No hesitation, no question. Instinct, reflex, understanding. _It is what it is. _At least _it_ was _something_.

"I know you didn't."

His hand reached out to his against his better judgment and rested on her arm, gentle pressure, reassurance.

She felt warm despite the cold. Her feet were firmly planted on the ground. She was okay.

He invited her in and everything was suddenly okay.

- - - - -

**_Notes:_** I know the "It is what it is" comment was made in 6x18, and this is supposed to take place before that. That was kind of the point I was going for there. ;) So, thoughts? I know, this is spastic, haha. Let me know what you think. :D


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